In my perpetual quest to waste time on the internet, I recently stumbled across this article listing the 10 Most Dangerous Jobs in America. Not surprisingly (if you’ve ever seen Deadliest Catch) Commercial fishing topped the list, followed by loggers, airline pilots, miners, roofers, garbage collectors, truck drivers, stunt men and police officers.
Now- don’t get me wrong, I’ve got mad love for the homies who catch my salmon and keep these mean streets of Toronto (somewhat) clean everyday, but I can’t help but feel a little slighted that no office jobs made the cut.
If the authors of this study had consulted me first, I’d have told them just how dangerous office life can be. Just yesterday, for example, I suffered a traumatic injury to my right index finger while attempting to remove the lid of my take-out salad container.
It might even require a second band-aid.
Last week was even worse. Between the lower back pain, the two broken nails and the innumerable paper cuts, I quite frankly consider myself lucky to be alive and blogging to you today.
Neither are spanx. Try sitting in that chinese finger trap of a garment for 16 hours straight. Only then will you be able to say you’ve truly looked danger in the eye.
I have a sister who works at a manufacturing plant lifting tires onto a conveyer belt all day. She tells me that I wouldn’t last one minute at her job. I tell her to try walking a mile in my shoes. Literally. Try walking a mile in 4-inch stilettos. Then talk to me about pain.
Look at me, almost 400 words in and I haven’t even talked about any of the psychological perils to working in an office yet. Those fluorescent lights and recycled air must really be getting to my head.
First, there’s the fact that I’m forced share my office with a large and unwieldy beast known as the “Stress Monster”. Not only is he on my case constantly, he’s also a jedi-level mind manipulator and lately, has mastered the art of shape-shifting. Most recently he’s been appearing to me in the form of a giant, vanilla cupcake.
Speaking of baked goods- only in an office job are you forced to endure the psychological terrorism of having to resist delicious baked goods and leftover birthday cake on your way past the office kitchen every afternoon. I don’t know about you guys, but I call that cruel and unusual.
Actually, I mostly just call it my “Cake belly”.
Plus, there’s dealing with what you’ve given up in order to be a slave to the man. You think I wouldn’t rather be compiling a list of the “Top 10 sheep who are judging you” for Buzzfeed right now? or sitting between Mariah and Randy as the balanced, reasoned voice of American Idol? Course I would. If it weren’t for this office job, I could be off gallivanting the world- competing in the skinny jeans tug of war at the Hipster Olympics, or better yet, working on securing my title as Most Tanned Person in the Universe for the third summer in a row.
Never underestimate the power of broken dreams, people. Those things can cut a b*tch.
I could go on, but I don’t want to scare anyone. Plus, I think I’ve made my point. While we may never get the recognition we deserve as fearless, danger-defying individuals, rest assured my little cogs in the machine- I understand your plight. And when all else fails, just remember: